


No Strings

by Chya



Category: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-19
Updated: 2005-10-19
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 5 vignette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda... odd. No smut, no romance particularly, bit dark, bit of language, and a bit Mary-Sue-ish. Mention of sex but nothing explicit.

She walked into the bar, looking for nothing more than a stiff drink. She didn't really take much notice of who else was there at first, focussing strictly on the short, spiky haired barman. One rotgut down, another on the way and she relaxed enough to look around. The usual mix you find in the outback style towns of Seefra; grubbers and hookers, traders and thieves.

And then there was the alcoholic leaning on the bar focussed on achieving oblivion. Tall, dark and handsome in a dishevelled kind of way, she knew he was exactly what she needed.

She finished her drink and slammed the glass on the bar.

That got his attention and he saluted her with his bottle. She took in the bone blades, could virtually feel the pheromones and despite the fact that he was a Nietzsche, saluted him back.

Rhade eyed up the woman at the bar. Not as pretty as some, not as ugly as others, but definitely willing. The alcohol made him maudlin if he didn't drink enough to pass out. Tough decision. Did he want to pass out and forget? Or have sex and cheer himself up for a while? Since she was clearly up for sex that made the decision for him.

They didn't do much in the way of talking. Sussed each other out and let the pheromones do the work. He started to head them back to his; she declined and led him back to hers. The barman wished them luck and they stumbled out into the night.

The sex was hard and fast, mutual need and lust carrying them through the night into the comfortable torpor of the following morning, or noon, or afternoon or whenever the hell it was they stirred.

He went to leave; she stopped him.

He was ready with some one-night stand type platitude, but she got there first. No strings.

Let's have sex again some time she said and he said maybe and she said fine.

She didn't come around the next day and Rhade didn't notice.

She came around the day after, and he wasn't there.

The next night she came by and he was there with a brassy blonde the midget behind the bar seemed to know well. She wasn't interested in laying claim or mixing it up, so she ordered a drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. Rhade noticed her then, nodded slightly and went back to the blonde.

A grubber started chatting her up and she let him think he was getting somewhere while she waited.

Several drinks later, Rhade told the grubber to fuck off and die. He told her it was his turn. He blew a kiss to the blonde who stuck her tongue out and went into deep conversation with the barman. He led her to his place.

She told him she was a trader, he told her he was a mercenary.

She told him he was an alcoholic, he told her she was a hard bitch.

They laughed and had sex all night and she went to leave some time the next day.

No strings, he said as she left. Too right she said as she walked way.

She came back the night after with a black eye. Client beat her up, she said, but she broke his kneecaps. Mostly by accident she said and they laughed. They staggered out to hers and had spent the night, same as before. Except he held her while she cried and in the morning they had coffee before he left.

No strings, he said. Maybe have sex again, she said. Good idea, he said.

The death of another innocent woman Rhade had failed to save and he was searching for oblivion again. She didn't turn up that night and he passed out in the bar. The barman, the blonde and a couple of others tried to drag him back to his room, but he was too damned heavy, and they were too damned tired of it. She didn't turn up the next two nights either and he slept under the tables.

The next night he was knocking at oblivion's door when a hooker presented herself for his attention. One he'd slept with before, one with an exceptional cleavage, but he told her to fuck off and die. Didn't want that escape, just wanted forgetfulness, nothingness and any other form of numbness.

Those he might have called friends or acquaintances would have made sure the hooker took notice, but they weren't there. The hooker tried to persuade him, groping him up with too much familiarity until he took a swing at her and missed. A couple of men jumped to the hooker's defence and Rhade egged them on, telling them to hit him. So they did, and he didn't fight back. Over and over until he lay still and bleeding and abandoned on the floor.

Then she arrived and slapped Rhade's face until vague brown eyes looked in her general direction. She tugged and pushed and cajoled, begged and pleaded, and bullied and cursed until finally she half-carried and half-dragged him into his place. She sat on the bed dozing while he lay where she'd dumped him on the floor in a drunken stupor. At some point he crawled onto the bed and passed out.

When he woke up, she held him while he cried in silence.

In the morning she left in silence.

She didn't come to the bar for a few days after that.

He got drunk and stayed drunk, but didn't look for oblivion.

The next time he saw her, she was standing at the bottom of his bed with a small backpack in her hand. She threw it at him and when he opened it, he found some food and a whole big bottle of water.

Come on, she said, we're going out for the day. No we're not, he said, I have a headache.

But there was no room for argument, and objection was met with a hard glare.

Together she, he and his hangover walked through the desert, to the foot of the hills that couldn't be climbed.

All day they clambered over rocks and along ledges and where she took insane risks with gales of laughter, he followed with curses that become less sincere as the day went on. Many times he caught her as she fell, and every time she laughed. Sometimes he was the one who fell, and she laughed at him while he pulled himself back up.

Eventually she bounded up a short incline of rocks and when he caught her up, she was stopped, looking at the sunset. They were at the top of the unclimbable hills and the view was spectacular, breathtaking and all the better for having had to work for it, and with the alcoholic haze gone, the colours seemed brighter and more varied.

They took out the food and ate until the sun finished going down.

Then they headed back to town. They reached the bar at dawn and went to bed for the day. No sex, no talk, just exhausted, gloriously dreamless sleep.

No strings she said when she left. Never he said. Better not be, she said. Kludge, he said.

With clients to see and deals to make, she didn't turn up for a few days and when she did, he wasn't there. The barman told her he didn't spend his time getting drunk anymore, that he'd gone on an errand for a few days.

Next time she saw him, he woke her up by slamming her door open. He took her to a garage with an old land speeder in it. It was between clients he said as they got in and took off.

In the middle of the desert they screamed across sand and grit at a million miles an hour, Rhade yelling angrily and triumphantly against the wind while she was hanging on for dear life. Rhade's high anger turned to insane laughter as he took the speeder through a chasm too fast, power sliding around sharp corners to come skidding out the other side.

Sanity returned and she relaxed, noting the life that now gleamed in his amber eyes. That night they spent the night at hers. Hard and fast giving way to languor and then sleep. She never noticed that he rarely slept.

No strings attached, he said next morning. Of course, she agreed. Maybe have sex again, he said. Look forward to it, she said. Don't, he said, it might never happen. You're right, she said.

Irregular spontaneous trips broke irregular meetings at the bar that were followed by long nights of hungry need. Eventually she noticed that his skin was less grey, his energy growing by the day. Rhade noticed how she smiled and laughed a lot, finding joy in everything, even the high-speed rushes she was terrified of. She noticed the dark circles remained under his eyes.

They never talked, never found much out about each other, and neither cared to, each keeping their distance. This wasn't about love or a relationship and never would be. No strings attached. Never any strings. Each promised the other there would be a day when the other would not be there anymore.

Sometimes Rhade would notice her hands shaking or her eyes turn vague, but she'd laugh and say she hadn't slept in days, then she'd sleep and wake up better.

She noticed how rarely he slept when on those occasions that he did, he woke both of them up with a roar of pain, spurning her company in search of a drink. But one drink and he'd come back, sorrow in his eyes and hold her until his demons passed.

And so it went on, no strings attached, no getting to know each other, that's what they told each other and told themselves. Neither one of them actually cared; it was simply a mutually beneficial arrangement built on loneliness and need.

Until the day she didn't turn up. And didn't turn up again. Or again.

After a few days, Rhade went to her place, not out of any concern, but just because.

When he arrived, she'd been dead a couple of days. Rhade couldn't help himself and sat on the bed by her, stroked the hair away from the blue hued face and felt utterly empty.

Another innocent woman he'd failed to save.

He needed to dull the pain he would be feeling soon, after he finished feeling empty, and fully intended to hit the bar as soon as his mind was done stalling.

He slowly became unstuck and he noticed the painkillers by her bed, the peacefulness of her body and surmised that she'd taken her own life. And felt betrayed by her, disappointed that she's hadn't confided in him and a failure because he hadn't seen it, hadn't saved her. Especially after she'd saved him.

A holo ball sat by the pills and he thumbed it on. He was surprised to find it was for him – he didn't know why, didn't know if there was anyone else, any family in her life.

I bet you're blaming yourself for this, she said, I bet you'll be headed straight for the nearest bottle.

Yes, he said, I am.

Well, you're not, she said. I didn't save you just so you could fall right back in. You saved me in ways that you can't imagine.

I don't understand, he said.

I was dying and needed a cause to keep going, she said, and I came across you.

A reclamation project, he said, bitter.

My reclamation project, she said. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and that makes you the strongest of them all.

You weren't strong, he said, accusing.

I'm not strong , she said, and we always said, no strings.

I'm sorry, he said, empty.

I'm not sorry, she said. Now fuck off and live.

That was all she wrote and with a gentle kiss toa cold dead cheek, he strode out into the sunlight and reflected that he never knew her name.

FIN


End file.
